The Spectacular Sun
by SwimGirl16
Summary: In the beaming summer that shined amongst the Roaring Twenties, a young bachelorette enters the excitement of West Egg. She plans to spend her days drinking alcoholic beverages, hopping through lavish New York parties, and gossiping on the latest American scandals. But then she fell in love. The man was so cool, so handsome, so Gatsby...
1. The Glittering West Egg

**Hello beautiful readers! It is truly a thrill to be writing a fan fiction for my all-time favorite book, "The Great Gatsby". I do not own anything from the "The Great Gatsby". I can only truly thank author, F. Scott Fitzgerald for all inspiration and many characters/characteristics of this story. Sorry for any errors in this fan-fiction for I am still a beginner on the path to perfecting the art literature. Please enjoy!**

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**The Glittering West Egg**

The beach house was such a cute little thing. The little adorable cottage, surrounded by freshly cut grass and a sprinkle of pale marble bird baths, drowned under the refreshing sunlight that blessed West Egg. Flowers of multiple colors blossomed around the building of buttery wood and gray stones, as me and my parents stood on the path to the slice of Long Island paradise. My father's strong hand gripped the silver key with a look of cool, mellow satisfaction glowing around him. My blond mother ran her soft, lightly blushed hand through her ocean of curls. She stared down the sweet area with huge, electric blue eyes with relaxed approval.

"This area is just lovely, would you not agree, my sweet darling?" My mother gave off an elegant smile formed with her painted lips, glancing over to me. She had a way with her voice. She spook as if she were pouring out honey and gold off her soft, graceful, royal tongue. Her electric blue orbs could capture the strongest, hungriest of armies and wrap them in a sea of velvet. I nodded my head, exactly like any other obedient young lady would. My response radiated a flow of prestige, discipline, and total agreement.

My parents were members of families that swam in heavy stacks of wealth. Due to the fact of their obvious money, their families did everything in their power to speed up the process of the highly significant fall into the arms of the two. My mother and father spent years being tossed into romantic sail boats and shipped across the sea, their mothers biting their nails until the two returned to shore, announcing their long awaited engagement. Both families were the mighty creators of industries from Virginia. Their businesses multiplied as the years got older. The metallic kingdoms divided into a long range of categories, from high producers of war materials to glossy consumer goods. The two empires merged with the marriage of my parents, making the already highly successful brands go soaring into a sky of everlasting gold. My father was the handsome Eugene Baudin who graduated from Harvard University with honors and a highly admirable Football-playing reputation. My mother was the angelic Viola Bissette who was destined to join the Baudin family. She spent her life being trained to be the perfect social butterfly. She swallowed heavy hours of learning the art of hosting extravagant parties, swooning at sports tournaments, drinking tea with gossiping women in feather-covered hats, and shopping at expensive boutiques with America's finest of superiors. The two were a match made in heaven, their gathering in holy matrimony set in stone from the moment of birth. With Viola's overflowing contact book and Eugene's passion for law, the two created a law firm that served the gems of society. Eventually the couple would have two children, me as the youngest of the duo.

"Lucy," my father said to me as he opened the doors of the two story vacation home, "It's truly a great pleasure to have you join us for the rest of the year until you run off to France in the spring." He spoke each word with such charming grace that I couldn't resist smiling in reply.

Being a young unwed woman of the age of nineteen, I discover myself craving to step away from the security of my parents and pursue my passion of painting. Growing up my mother called art tutors over to our castle in Virginia to teach me the ways of canvases and ink. For the longest of time, it felt like a desperate cry from my mother to sooth my loneness. During my childhood, I found a bit of a void in our empty, gigantic home while my older brother, Arthur, was locked away at his rich, extremely strict boarding school that was at least eight cities away. But the tones of desperation began to disintegrate right after noticing my mother talking to my teachers. She would speak to them with such respect and understanding, dashing her long eyelashes whenever an exceptional drawing had been presented. Her calls over the telephone were not actually made out of distress for the loneliness I suffered in the absence of my oldest brother, but to create a new way to inspire me. Painting became my paradise when growing up; sadness practically became ineffective as I hid under the covers of creativity in every moment of negativity. Many nights I spent cuddled on cottony lounge chairs, while my mother smoked cigarettes and fed me chocolates by the fire place. We spent long, enjoyable hours in that comfortable position while she told me stories of her modeling career in Paris, France. For what has felt like an eternity, I've wanted to live in my Aunt's palace. Her home stood amongst a village of rose gardens within the romantic, artists' heaven in France. There I dreamed to dance amongst the late children of the revolution, making art with the professionals that play as angels in my fantasies. Of course, I've been to the most prettiest of sights in Western Europe on family vacations. But never have I fallen gleefully into the world of beauty and creation that thrived beyond the blazing parties I indulged in. I pray that in this not so distant future that I may no longer live by the title of an artistic woman with a beloved hobby, but as a professional female artist whose masterpieces shall flood the galleries of Europe.

My mother and father learned to live with my dream, but they preferred their only daughter to be a married socialite verses an artist fluttering around in the butterfly kingdoms of Paris. I made my plans to travel to my Aunt Angelette, and her constantly absent husband, in France with the mild support from my parents. But to spend my future painting verses strolling around by my parents' side for all eternity, an agreement had to be made. In order to go to France I would be tied down by my parents until spring. To relive old memories of the hot summers in houses by crystal blue lakes that rained upon my blissful history as a little child, my parents hunted down a house in the village of West Egg. West Egg was a flop of prosperous land in Long Island, New York. Members of the newly rich swam there to live by the refreshing bay in the newly arrived New York sun. There, young adults read books with long, industrial words in cottages, rolled around in the sun with mini sandwiches, and partied with gallons of bootlegged alcohol showering them. There, my family planned to spend long beaming days cruising through the city, attending extremely lavishing parties, swimming in the bay like bubbly well-dressed fish, and spending nights drinking scotch and warm tea. Despite my beloved plans being delayed, I still caught myself within a blanket of excitement. New York was booming with energy, liquor was being poured frequently in enormous silver cups, festivities cluttered every corner, and attractive bachelors strolled around in search for their first million. Here, I shall enjoy gossiping with fellow ladies on all the constant New York scandals, going wild at neon celebrations, and diving into the water with bachelors while sharing glasses of champagne.

"I wouldn't miss such a lovely chance," I assured my father as the doors opened, "This summer shall be much more fascinating than a short life on a steel boat to France." He grinned at me, doing little to hide his admiration for the words that slipped so comfortably off my tongue.

"Arthur should be joining us very shortly," my mother reminded as we took our first steps into the vacation home.

The house was a two story high palace surrounded by a wooden patio that was decorated by clay pots of lilies and cherry wooded rocking chairs. Through the archway and pass the butterscotch colored doors a huge airy space opened up. The walls were all painted in peachy shades that blended with navy velvet chairs and glass tables. The home proudly had a sandstone kitchen, an olive-themed dining room, crystal vases of light pink roses, classy hundred-dollar rugs, and filled up bookshelves that stood by open windows that fed of bits of forestry, sunlight, and the cooling image of the bay. Beyond the stair case rested a selection of grand bedrooms. The one I selected was a spacey plum of magenta Egyptian cotton and paintings of cherry blossoms wrapped in gold frames. Behind two glass doors covered by thin, white curtains, a stone balcony resided, overlooking the sandy beach and brilliant water. I stood on the balcony, feeling a breeze rush against my skin.

The calm wind gently played with my wavy, sandy brown hair as my long eyelashes fluttered in the confident glaze of the sun. My sky blue eyes darted at a castle decorated with towers that appeared to kiss the sky.

"Do you know who lives there?" I asked my mother, in reply to her graceful footsteps that grew behind me.

"Not a single clue," she answered, as her sight grew in awe of the enormous building that glowed throughout all of West Egg "The king of a man who could live at such a gem must be the bee's knees."

"Obviously, I've read in the papers that West Egg had been home to a man of extravagant festivities. That must be the lovely clump of orchids that everyone's always gossiping about," I assumed.

My mother just nodded her head, her gaze swarm into remembrance, "Oh, off course!" she purred, "Your father's precious pals from across the bay are constantly complaining about that over-the-top mansion," she stated, "They claim it to be a dirty pool of the crazed newly rich swimming in alcohol and a void of morals."

"Really?" I questioned sharply, "It's truly hard to believe that such an attractive place could ever be described so disgustingly."

"Well, my beautiful dear, that's how many citizens of East Egg view such extravagant places," she sighed, "they're members of old money, who live off clean reputations and hide in their aged wealth." I moved my direction over across the bay, where East Egg stood. East Egg was a well-polished village of tidy palaces and well-kept gardens. It was a place where people rejoiced with ice tea and horse-back riding. I thought of it to be nothing more than a platinum kingdom that hid behind curtains of country-club manners and supposed ultimate class. Those of such a clean place lived by glittering well-known family names. "Oh, and one last thing!" my mother jumped, taking her attention of the mysterious building, "I wanted to remind you that we're visiting the Buchanan household in an hour." She reminded with a wide, royal smile. I nodded as she turned away, her footsteps making clear, chirping sounds against the wooden floor.

My attention still laid on the glittering castle. The whole design of the glamorous building gave off an addictive aura of confidence, beauty, and festiveness. If my assumptions were true of the household, than that was obviously the garden of celebrations that cluttered the media. It was a well-known, blazing moth light where people from all over New York stuffed themselves into tiny vehicles to go rejoice. Right next to my happy Summerland lays a watering hole for actors, models, millionaires, and interesting people who lived beyond my imagination. "Mr. Gatsby," I whispered, the image of the mystic name from the newspapers floating in my head. For a second, as I watched the towers of mystique, I saw a figure in the window, watching down on me with as much curiosity as I had for the name Gatsby.


	2. Rumors and Temptation

**Rumors and Temptation**

Before we were shipped off in my father's perfectly polished, blazing orange vehicle to travel to East Egg, I hopped into my swimwear to visit the golden sand beyond the house. My swim suit was a tight wrap of juicy red with white polka dots, which left my long, athletic legs bare and vulnerable to the sunlight. I topped my head with a huge straw hat and began to speed down the stairs, my body craving for an adventure. As I stepped outside the house I felt my unclothed arms sparkling beneath the sun. With every step I took, I began to visualize myself as a strolling thin wisp of tanning skin and simple accessories. The blue sky above me glittered around the bubbly sun. The glossy, perfect world above my head enchanted Long Island, bringing out summer festivities within the wide gatherings amongst the soft sand.

The beaches along West Egg were exactly as I expected. The sand played in perfect harmony between my uncovered toes. The blue water of the bay was decorated with racing sail boats, flirtatious swimmers, and the glimmers of God's golden rays that dashed along each relaxed wave. The beach itself played as the ultimate distraction, as beautiful people of all types frolicked around, giggling, flipping, and having an overall perfect experience. Cars drove by, each one releasing happy armies with every stop, like a dozen cages releasing handsome doves to bless the world. I smiled at the sun kissed paradise that opened up eagerly before me. Life rushed all of its romance, light, and joy towards me with unbelievable excitement.

"Such beautiful weather we're having, would you not agree?" I turned to the voice that chimed confidently by my side. There stood a handsome young man with mesmerizing violet eyes, grinning at me with complete charm and interest. "Of course, the weather isn't nearly as beautiful as a gorgeous girl like you," he winked. While he spoke, his bright, lemony hair was caught in the breeze with unimaginative perfection. I felt myself blush with a bright, noticeable pink color due to his cool presence. He had a strong sea of confidence that covered him. Everything about him appeared so victoriously. The way he wore his dark green swimsuit, the way he styled his hair so casually, every little detail of him was so powering. "My name's Elmer," he introduced, taking my right hand gently to brush his cold lips upon my smooth, hot skin.

"I'm Lucy," I announced, my words falling off my tongue slowly.

"That's a name worthy of such a precious young lady," he complimented, making my stomach twist ever so extravagantly.

"Elmer!" called over a female's voice. Behind the attractive Elmer, a girl with chocolaty, wet hair came moving towards us. Drops of water slipped over her dark swimwear with every step she took, the sand climbing up her sparkling legs. "Who's this?" she asked, her words chirping through the sky with jolliness.

"This is the stunning Lucy," he answered. His violet eyes, as exquisite as those of a tiger, stayed locked on me.

The girl stood next to him, her arrival alerting three new people to join our introduction. "Hello Lucy,'' the girl chirped, her almond eyes flickering in a vibrant manner. "My name's Victoria." I couldn't resist responding to her with a huge smile that conquered over my face. Something about Victoria's illuminate lightheartedness made me happy. Her special glow made me feel like I could share all my secrets with her. Even after seconds of knowing her she made an impression that she was the greatest, kindest, and most loving best friend that anyone could ever have.

She and Elmer began introducing the other three that had joined us. The tall, muscular man with jet black hair and emerald eyes was Jimmy; he smiled shyly and resisted all chances to speak. Elmer described him as silent giant who spoke only with actions. Clinging to him was a tiny, pixy-like girl with fiery red hair and hazel eyes named Fern. Fern was a very energetic girl who constantly exclaimed her addictive admiration for parties, candies, and Jimmy, her very obviously beloved fiancé. Then there was Alberta, a very homely, plain girl with a silky voice. Afterwards, I enjoyed my time with the crew, as the six of us embarked on merry activities. We rolled around in the sand, jumped off rocks, and laughed so hard that our faces burned red and tears fell down from our eyes in bliss. For long moments we dived beneath the water, then tossing each other against the fellow enjoyers in the waves, with huge grins on our faces. Occasionally, the growls of sail boaters littered our fun festivities, discouraging our childish ignorance that excitedly slipped into the bay. After backflips off the tall, sandy boulders of the West Egg coast, we discovered ourselves wandering off into the village that was dotted with mild forestry. Our once effortless runs, which captured our footprints quickly against the cozy sand, transformed into quick tiptoes, as strands of pointy grass scratched out bare feet. We eventually stood one house away from the enormous castle that I believed to be the sparkling residence of the mysterious millionaire, Mr. Gatsby.

I pointed over to the huge diamond that rested silently over a big chunk of West Egg, "Is that the home of Mr. Gatsby?" I snorted as we shuffled around.

"Mr. Gatsby?" Fern sang, "Do you know him?"

"Only from the thousands of rumors that clutter all of New York," I chuckled, stepping away from the team to rest against a tall, aging tree. From where I stood, I felt the reflection of the mansion come rushing over me.

"Oh," Alberta purred, "That is definitely the home of Jay Gatsby."

"He's the cat's meow!" Fern assured, "I don't know him personally of course, but he throws the greatest of parties."

"I heard that he's the finest war hero the world has ever seen," Victoria sighed in a dreamily fashion, "All the kings of Europe got down on their knees to kiss his feet after the war."

"Well, I head he's a murderer," Elmer hissed, "gaining every cent of his wealth by hunting down the greatest of ruby collectors in all of England and France."

"No Elmer!" Fern wailed, "He's the grandest of German royalty, he lives off the inheritance of Germany's finest of rulers!"

"You all can't serious believe all this," stated an unknown voice. We all jumped, our sight targeting over to the closest house to us. There, on a clean porch sat a man with a gigantic book in his hands. He watched us in amazement, unbelieving of the many words that slipped so easily from our kissers. I stepped away from the tree and towards the man; for the oddest of reasons, I was far too distracted by the interrupter to return to the outrageous Gatsby conversation.

"And who might you be?" Victoria asked, annoyed by his random comment.

"Just a typical man," he answered. When he spoke his voice was glass of stylish sarcasm and light, easy-going letters.

Victoria threw her hands to her hips; she turned to quickly roll her eyes. It was obvious that her friendly attitude had run dry due to the man's unwanted entrance into the conversation. But just as easily as it had come down, she threw the optimistic curtain back up. "Well, Mr. Typical Man, I believe that we must be leaving now," she said, walking away with everyone behind her heels. All but me went roaming off with her. "Lucy?" Victoria turned to me, "Are you coming?"

"No…but I'm sure we'll meet again," I answered. He face widened in quick surprise, but then casually went back to normal as the crew continued on with their day. I increased my way closer to the man. He was far from bad looking, his features all tying together to become a darling piece of relaxed art. His looks were casual yet handsome at the same time. He appeared to be in his late twenties, and as one of the many men who came to New York in search for some rubes. "So what's your real name, Mr. Typical Man?"

"Nick Carraway," he introduced.

"I'm Lucy Baudin," I said. It surprised me how calm Nick was. He didn't question why I stayed behind to talk to him, or why my newly-made friends and I were dashing around his front lawn in the first place. Nick only smiled and politely spoke to me, with the perfect manners of an optimistic gentleman.

"So, Miss. Baudin, what brings you to West Egg?" he asked, welcoming me to his side. He had given an offer to converse with him in his extreme desire to distract himself from the long, miserable looking book that weighed down his knee.

"I'm here for the summer with my family," I answered; my head now returning to the intense glow of Gatsby's castle. Nick opened his mouth, but held back his words at the sound of my mother hollering my name a few houses away. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Carraway," I said, standing up and running to the distant sound of my mother's voice, waving my hand at him as he returned to his studies.

"Lucy, you're not any close to being ready!" my mother groaned, ordering to my room to get dressed for the outing, "Be quick, your father's friends will be expecting us soon!" and so I rushed up the stairs, ripping through my freshly filled closet to collect a dress for the evening.

Despite the many things of the quick sequence of events from the long hour, I still couldn't get my mind off the new collection of knowledge I received. Jay Gatsby, the man who used to inspire tiny articles in Virginian newspapers, really existed. Therefore, his existence, rather it being that of a king, war hero, murderer, or typical millionaire, was so unbelievably close to me in this Long Island town. So, with little to be thinking over, I was obviously standing in the perfect party spot. As I slipped into a dark purple dress and threw creamy pearls around my neck, I gave a final glance out my window. I finally realized, for the first time today, that the summer unfolding in front of my very essence, will be much more spectacular than ever expected.

*TGG*FF*

As expected, when I arrived down stairs my older, twenty-three year old brother stood, wearing his gray suit and a huge grin.

"Arthur," I hummed, reaching my arms out to briefly hug him. Arthur and I had very similar characteristics. We shared our sandy brown, wavy hair and a tall, athletic physique. But verses having sky blue eyes, Arthur had the dark brown eyes of my father, eyes in which were so dark that they appeared almost to be black.

"Hello Lucy," he greeted, patting my head with his strong muscled hand. Arthur had been attending Columbia University, with classes finally coming to an end, he decided to come to West Egg and stay with us for the summer. Our parents smiled at the sight of us from the background, as if they won some sort of precious trophy for bringing the whole family together. They held their hands, my mother's eyes glittering with compassion, as if she were a super-human who brought us back to our childhood security.

In the corner stood a dazzling woman, who appeared to be Arthur's equal in age. Her hair was straight and coppery, her lips angelic and rosy. Her dress shimmered in the light. She was obviously a queen flapper, with wearing only a short sheet of golden fabric covered in clear scales, which made her appear almost like a mystical mermaid. Above her head was a lacy, golden headband that gave her a royal radiance. "Hello Lucy," she meowed, like an innocent kitty cat with unusual, minty eyes that cuddled one's soul. "I'm Pearl." She floated over to my brother, grabbing his hand with such grace that it felt as if she were a cloud gently blanketing over him. Around her finger was a glossy diamond sleeping on a silver band.

"Oh, yes!" I remembered, "You're the girl from the letters."

She smiled with pleasure, "Well, I sure hope so." I didn't need a grand announcement to know that she was my brother's beautiful, flawless, New York fiancée he met at a speakeasy. Nor did I need my brother's reassurance on how brilliant Pearl was. Once every week he would send me a letter, pouring out all his loving, fancying, worshiping praises of the flapper. She was the princess that captured his heart with only a few words that flew into his ears in the moonlight. I was far from the bratty, possessive sister who would scare away my brother's significant other, because I knew how much she met to him. I had a duty as a Baudin to support all alignments in ways of the heart.

With only briefly and awkwardly getting acquainted to Pearl, we all hopped into the expensive automobile and headed over to the Buchanan household with only insignificant conversing on the way there. Their home was a swell, elegant mansion in East Egg. Everything appeared so perfectly polished, organized, and well-spent on. From the very moment of stepping in, we were greeted my clean servants, leading us through the enormous, spiffy halls. But then our rich travels were interrupted by a masculine man, who sent all the servants rushing away after they received one quick supreme glance from their master.

"Baudin!" he praised in his husky-tenured voice at the arrival of my father.

"Buchanan!" my father yelped as they crashed into each other, chuckling, like young high school students goofing around at football tournaments. They lightly slammed their fists into each other's shoulders, grinning within their fun happening. My father then zapped himself back into the present and turned to us, reaching his hand out to my mother.

"Viola," Mr. Buchanan greeted, brushing her hand lightly, in attempt to be as gentle as possible. "You haven't aged a day."

My mother smiled warmly, "Oh Tom, if only that were true," she laughed calmly with satisfaction.

My father waved his hand in front of us, as if he were a magician unveiling his prized trick. "This is my daughter, Lucy," he nodded towards me, letting me carry a second of Mr. Buchanan's stern attention. "And my son Arthur and his fiancée, Pearl." After the name _Pearl_ slipped out of my father's vocabulary, I noticed a quick click in the mood. The second Tom learned Pear's name and laid his eyes upon the copper fairy of legs and sparks, he looked at her with such intense attraction. I knew that by the way he starred at her with such longing that she had become his new quest for the night. A chain had now been wrapped around the two, binding them to the destiny of strolling under the stars to invest in romance and passion. But, what scarred me even more than that I knew this after meeting them so recently, was that I saw Pearl, the owner of my brother's heart, stare back at Tom with an exact copy of intense wanting.


	3. The Polished Castle of the Buchanans

** Hello readers! Thank you so much for reading to Chapter Three of the Spectacular Sun. Every comment, Favorite, and Follow truly means the world to me, you guys are the greatest! So here's the official plan: I will be updating this story by at least one chapter every week. Check in for new chapters every Saturday and I'll do my very best not to disappoint. I love you guys so much! **

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**The Polished Castle of the Buchanans **

With every new step we took the silence grew extravagantly; our footsteps wailed against the marble that flourished beneath us. My parents chatted with Mr. Buchanan charmingly on typical things, such as the weather, political events, sports extravaganzas, etc…off in the far front of us. Despite Mr. Buchanan's overly confident remarks and enormous laughter, I could still feel nothing but cold silence that trapped Peal, Arthur, and I. I did my best to let the awkward wave of chemistry I noticed between Peal and Tom fall quickly off my shoulders. But despite how easily distracted I had let myself become, the remaining strangeness still left my mind clouded with unease. A large fume of tension filled every inch between Pearl and Tom. An invisible string weaved itself in the Buchanan's pretty palace. The string was made of the sparks of the unspoken, tempting, sizzling admiration between my brother's fiancée and my father's pal. I found myself in a mental box within my thoughts, roaming around weirdly until tripping over that passion-filling thread. Within this mist, as I went crumbling to the hard ground, I violently reached to my oblivious sibling. When I snapped back into the strange reality that whistled in my ears, I watched Pearl with Arthur. He looked down at her with as much love as that he described so gorgeously and perfectly within every letter I received from him. His dark eyes turned brilliantly bright with every precious gaze he gave her. She smiled stunningly at him in return for his wordless praises. Pearl rushed her hand delicately into her soft, copper hair before grabbing Arthur's hand. He blushed lightly and proceeded to carry her snowy white hand as carefully as a brilliant wizard holding an expensive, rare potion.

"You truly have a beautiful home," I complimented, in attempt to escape the witnessing of my brother's foolishness.

Tom's eyes twinkled narcissistically, "Indeed it is!" he proclaimed. "This very house is the perfect example of the nest for supreme beings."

"Supreme beings?" my mother giggled in a shaky, hesitant fashion.

"You see, Viola, we are the overall superior species. We are the dominant race of beauty, strength, power, intelligence, and wealth," Tom insisted.

My stomach twitched. Mr. Buchanan, the man next to me, pouring Whiskey into a crystal glass for my father from a small, antique table, was completely insane. We were all living in a time where we were on top, the billionaires who the world served as a wide, opened oyster too. It was typical for the first-class, dazzling citizens to believe that they were the ultimate jewels of society. The wealth that was injected into our golden veins made us America's closest thing to royalty. But to live by a title that was as intimidating as that of a supreme race made my legs transform into thin paper. Humans, in general, all fell into the same sea of average equality in one way or another. No matter how many tall sacks of golden coins filled one's volt, or how ideal their glittering appearance was, we were all alike, in even the most simplest of ways. I also though, in a very sassy manner, that a married man who looked so hungrily at an engaged woman was more of a gossip case than an all mighty, supreme creature.

When we turned the corner, a pale blue room opened up majestically around us. The floor went from creamy marble to dark, mystic wood. The charming ground was topped with multiple gray and white fur rugs and long leather lounge chairs. The room had more wide windows than painted wall. The glass openings were covered by heavy, honeydew drapes. Then, like a large breath of my very first taste of fresh air, was _her_.

"Is he talking your ears off about all that goody supremacy stuff?" she coolly questioned, looking over us with a ciggy perfectly balanced between her silky, fragile fingers. I never imagined that I could find someone to be so magical, but there was something about the brilliant clouds that reflected off of her. She filled the room with delicious warmth, an enchanting puff that could capture a wild stallion. She looked at me as if I were the most beautiful, precious creature she had ever laid eyes on. She was a sparkling diamond who shined stylishly amongst cold, damp rocks. She was the lovely angel: Daisy Buchanan. "Hello," she purred, burying her cigarette in a silver ash tray on the glass table next to her, moving as graceful as a golden sun queen amongst a kingdom of flowers. My blood turned into honey flavored goo, every bit of my essence melting with envy.

"Daisy!" my mother cheered, giving her a classy, small hug, each one of the two giving away tiny kisses to the air next to the other's cheek.

"Oh darling Viola, this must be your daughter, Lucy," she gasped, skipping up to me with fascination. "Oh sweet Lucy, you've grown to become a lovely young woman, as precious as a dazzling gem!" My heart turned fuzzy and velvety with her kind words and brilliant smile. All of sudden she grabbed my hand, snapping her mesmerizing gaze towards Tom and my parents. "I'm leaving you old puffs to your scotch and cigars, and bringing my new, perfect pet with me," she kidded.

Tom's looks were solid and happy-lacking, but he nodded his head despite his rocky facial expression, "Go ahead, Daisy," he quickly said. His emotions were a slap to the face of beauty. How could a man go even a second without praising a woman of such beaming grace? Daisy made Pearl look like a child swimming in filth, selling cheap beads at dumpy markets by garbage cans and drunks.

"Try not to have too much fun!" my father chuckled. Daisy pulled me out of the room, strutting quickly like a flying cover of a Vogue magazine. When my sight found itself slipping behind our trail, I couldn't resist noticing Pearl glaring at Daisy, as if she stole her seat on the last train to paradise.

Right before any more thoughts could fill my head, I found myself falling over a couch. My body then was curled on the floor, wrapped in a bundle of soft cotton and fancy pillows. I laughed at my odd position, looking up to see Daisy staring down at me with a bubbly sparkle in her glossy eyes. She rested on the gigantic couch next to me, her body stretched like a hyped kitten. "Where am I?" I asked. My voice was fabricated with bliss and childish laughter.

"Only in the most amazing room in this entire, boring old house," she explained, reaching out for my hand to yank me next to her. I looked around to only see a circular room, that had polished columns and unclosed glass doors making up for the absence of actual walls.

"Your home is truly elegant…far better than anything boring and old," I insisted. Thin, pale curtains were floating in the wind, and beyond the opened doors the bay glittered and rose gardens were being trimmed by uniformed servants.

"Oh you're so sweet," she sang, swinging her diamond and pearl covered wrists in the light wind that flooded the room. "But Lucy, you'll learn many things when you're an old woman like me. After you've seen the most prettiest of sights even the most perfect of things become dull and miserably typical," she pouted. I truly meant to continue laughing, but then I heard the penny drop within our roaring, gleeful cloud. Daisy wasn't a young pixy, but instead a married mother who was my superior in age. Of course, she didn't have too many years over me, but the rumors that drowned her name at my mother's tea parties surely made her much wiser than me. She was the typical East Egg doll from the Midwest, who lived a lifestyle of shiny possessions and old money. She was described as that of a naïve, elegantly fluffed mind. Stories from her journey to adulthood ranged wide in multiple segments, each little bit hopping from a world of juicy wildness to polished grace. She was the idolized Midwestern princess who attracted fresh, handsome war officers from every angle. But her days of popularity and flirting took a pause when her life turned to the chapter of Tom Buchanan, who stormed in and charmed everyone to their knees with his glamorous wealth. He showered her with expensive jewelry; they married with enough pride and fashion to make their love story untouchable by the American gossip columns. But Tom's lustful actions eventually sunk their perfect love boat. His little sprees with unknown girls in short dresses left Daisy in the dust, suffering long, lonely nights in large, empty mansions. She gave birth to her daughter, Pammy, all while her husband was messing around with some random girl in Chicago.

"How am I ever supposed to get any sleep with you messing around out here?" a female voice snickered, her words snapped the room with a strange, powerful intimidation.

"Who on Earth sleeps in the early evening?" Daisy teased, jumping up to look at the figure that came marching into the room. When I saw her I felt as if a bullet was rushing at my eyes. The woman had such an empowering, mystic illumination that oozed from her every, confident bit of existence. She was a blazing rose surrounded by unimaginably sharp thorns. Her athletic glamour kept my attention stationed on her; her entire being was addictive to look at.

"A woman who spends dreadfully long mornings drinking at breakfast parties," she answered, bending over the couch to pick at a metallic box of cigarettes that sat at Daisy's side. Then eventually a ciggy sat on her lips and its end found its way to a golden flame, the smoke went swirling around her body. She stood with high self-esteem and enormous pride, the kind of mighty emotions that an average girl could only dream about.

"Lucy, this is Jordan Baker," Daisy said, now standing by Jordan.

"Oh! Of course, I've read about you in sport magazines," I remembered. She gave me a feisty smile before whipping her body against the air. Her figure flashed until I discovered her flopping to my side on the couch.

"Well…if you're reading about me you must have good taste," the smoke from her cigarette wisped in my direction as the words slipped of her silvery tongue. Her lips were plucked and glossy between the burning ciggy. The cloud of smoke trapped my face and I erupted with tiny coughs. "Oh no…where are my manners?" she cried, sticking the metallic box up to my tingling face, "Want a ciggy?"

I threw my hand through the fumes that were attacking my face, like a venomous snake, "No thank you!" I replied, "I don't smoke, I'm not too fond of the taste."

She winced and then threw the box to the ground carelessly. She popped up and let the breeze fly off with the river of gray that poured from her mouth. "Okay," she said, tossing the cig into an ash tray on the mahogany coffee table in front of us. "So, being a sports' reader like yourself, do you play?" the professional golfer asked. Jordan Baker was a famous women's golfer whose talent had carried her across the country to play in the greatest of golf tournaments. Her name filled magazines and newspapers from every corner of the United States.

"I'm more of a tennis player, actually," I explained, "I competed a lot up until last year."

"Oh, Lucy, you're truly a woman of many talents!" Daisy complimented, tossing herself back down to my spare side. Her eyes sparkled at me, "Your mother told me over the telephone that you're an artist as well! Oh how she cries over your plans to travel to France in the spring."

"I like you," Jordan decided, gazing over at me with approval, "you're a strong, athletic, talented young woman much like me."

"Oh yay," Daisy emphasized, she threw her upper body over my lap, staring at the ceiling with her feet kicking the air. She was just like a little girl daydreaming about the brilliant future ahead of her. "You two will be the greatest of friends. You'll go out to the most extravagant of parties and win over the hearts of the handsomest of men!"

Then laughter erupted again and I found myself falling into a sea of pure joy. Jordan, Daisy, and I discussed the most precious of things, Daisy's warmth and Jordan's class blanketed me, and I felt as if I were floating on a graceful cloud. Of course, the cloud we were giggling on had issues. Flaws like Daisy's self-absorbed attitude went crawling into the spotlight. Her silky tones described her as a model, and that everything else in her life was just a part of a big showcased exhibit with no real emotional value. But I let the problems run off, brushing every selfish trait off our little babbling heaven. Eventually a butler came into the room, our winds of nature and conversing came to a quick stop.

"It's time for dinner, madams," he announced.

We went into a long, bronze dining room with an enormous crystal chandelier. The table was decorated with white roses, the finest of silverware, and tall candlesticks with flittering flames. We took our seats on the fluffy, embroidered cushions upon stylish wooden chairs. Discussion filled the room.

"Your father was the finest football coach that Yale has ever had," Tom praised, patting my dad on the back while quaffing up his wine.

"You coached?" my brother asked.

"Well, after I graduated from Law school, Yale was dying to have me as a football coach," my father bragged, "I couldn't refuse such a golden opportunity to get back in the game."

"He was the toughest coach I've ever had the pleasure of dealing with. When looking back, I believe I was never a true athlete until suffering through your father's ferocity! Yale football was a true rite of passage for me," Tom grinned.

Further conversing moved rapidly amongst the table. Each of us told stories and rumors as we poked at magnificent displays of freshly cooked duck with sides of spinach salad, French onion soup, and bread rolls with melted cheese. Afterwards we were in a wide space of minty green walls and golden framed paintings. We sat on fur covered lounge chairs, drinking Champaign and munching on golden boxes of chocolate.

Pearl then suddenly stood up, looking at Tom while licking her lips. "I need to powder up," she announce, turning around flirtatiously. Her stroll out of the room paced itself playfully. A few minutes later Tom got up, promising to be back shortly before vanishing after Pearl. It bothered me how no one seemed to notice the game they were playing; all were oblivious except for Daisy and Jordan, who glared at the duo's path.

"I could use a delicious cup of tea!" Daisy chirped. "Lucy, please come with me." Obediently, I flew to my feet and followed her out the room. Eventually, after passing the kitchen doors, she said, "I want to show you the master bedroom, it's truly splendid." We came to a quick stop at enormous, cherry wooden doors that she pushed open aggressively. Standing by a master bed covered in white velvet, was Pearl and Tom, their bodies tied together tightly. Their mouths were disgustingly devouring each other's faces, their hands yanking at each other's clothes. "Fancy seeing you here, Tom," she hissed. There little whoopee making came to a sharp close, Tom bounced far away from Pearl, his face burning with embarrassment and rage. "Go," she ordered Pearl, who looked at me with regret, tears forming in her reddening eyes. She went racing out, a ray of panic covering her. Her once sparkling, dazzling gown was whipped down in her shame. The doors went slamming in front of me. I only caught a quick glimpse of a devilish Daisy, who opened her mouth in rage. Behind the doors I heard their yelling that flooded the room violently.

"Lucy!" my mother called, glowing on the other end of the hallway, "Where's Daisy?" she asked.

I went to her ear and whispered, "Schooling Tom in the bedroom."

My mother starred at the door, "Well…looks like we should be leaving then."

As we made our exit I stayed quiet. Pearl watched me in a cautious, worried style. No one truly understood why the couple was fighting in their bedroom except for Pearl, Jordan, and I. I could tell that Jordan knew all along that Tom would mess up the evening with his scandalous obsession with romantic affairs. She wickedly looked over Pearl, her eyes beaming with amusement. Of course I refused to speak of the event I just witnessed. My head was spinning, it both amused and confused me how I could know people for less than a day and already hold their newest secret. Sharing to my family the tale of Pearl's forbidden kissing spree with Mr. Buchanan would destroy her engagement to my brother, and I wasn't prepare to ruin the entire reputation of only a new acquaintance.

As we traveled into the darkness, Jordan waved at us coolly. Servants opened up our vehicle, smiling obediently as us, "I hope you enjoyed your time at the Buchanan household."


	4. Anything and Everything

**Hey guys! I'm terribly sorry that I just barely made my Saturday deadline! It's been a busy week, with my lifeguarding class, track practice, essay writing, etc…it's been hard to just sit down and get my creative juices flowing to write a new chapter. But I managed it! Hoo Ray! Thank you so much everyone for your interest in my fan fiction, it means the world to me, I love you! xoxo **

* * *

**Anything and Everything**

The car ride back to the vacation home was awkward. It made my head wobble in a million directions, seeing how my parents and brother had no clue of what had happen at the Buchanan household. They supposed that Daisy and Tom had just happened to find something to get angry about and that right after they did their emotions exploded and they retreated off into some sort of isolation. Then they supposedly meaninglessly ripped each other's heads off. There for Pearl was as brilliant and pristine as when she was introduced earlier today. It felt almost like the false story my family believed in was the exact truth. But I had the displeasure of knowing it wasn't.

"Tom's always been the type of man to explode. I highly doubt this was their first argument while guests were present," my father sighed.

"Children, do not go around telling people about the argument!" my mother ordered, "We are their kind, trustworthy guests, even after we've left their home."

"I just wonder what happened," my brother said. Pearl starred at him, her eyes widening with sadness until her face went flinging against the glass window of the car. Her attention drifted off into the streets that danced amongst the stars and moon that twinkled above the moving vehicle. It would be so easy to just spill out the truth of the Buchanan argument and explain Pearl's involvement. I could easily throw her under a heavy, undesirable spotlight of simulation. I thought of how simple it would be to whisper the true story into my mother's ear, bringing her mind to absolute clarity, and shipping the summer off into a raging storm of complete chaos, but I couldn't. I could see how much pain Pearl's actions had brought her; her appearance of stress confirmed her confusion on why she dived eagerly into Tom's embrace. Also, I was still on a wild ride when pondering on how could have so much dirt on people who had only just arrived in my life. My head was spinning violently around in twisty circles, shrinking due to the icy stings that came with my millions of questions, all within a mental, silent, invisible world.

When we finally arrived, I sprinted upstairs to soak in a nice bubble bath. Within every second that I was relaxing in the warm water I felt every troubling thought wash off of me. The water disintegrated all the drama from the Buchanans' and left me feeling fresh and light. I floated into a long, icy blue sleeping gown and began to brush out my hair on my new, fluffy bed. Suddenly I noticed a bright, green light from the balcony. I stepped outside into the chilliness of the nighttime wind. I spotted a man on the dock closest to the extravagant palace of Mr. Gatsby, the green light hitting him like a beaming wave. He reached out over the water, almost as if the glittering, green brightness was a solid rope that he was elegantly trying to grab. I found myself strangely mesmerized by the male figure. Despite it being far away, there was an unexplainable, handsome glow that shinned beautifully off of him. His desirable glow mixed in with the enchanting green brightness, which caused my heart to go skipping vibrantly and my stomach to tingle. Then the man turned over to my direction and felt my legs turn into thin noodles and my checks began burning brilliantly with surprise. I quickly ran back inside, slamming the glass doors to the balcony behind me.

When I caught my breath there were loud knocks on my door. "Come in," I announced.

In reply Pearl came tip-toeing in. She wore a puffy, lavender night gown and her coppery locks were twisted above her head. "Hello Lucy."

"Pearl, I didn't know you were staying with us for the night," I slurred, "Actually everything about you from today was a bit of a surprise."

"…Well, yesterday before Arthur took off to catch his train he begged me to join him. He's such a romantic; he desperately persuaded your parents to let me stay for a week." She smiled, blinking back tiny tears from her eyes.

"It's crazy how much he adores you; after all, your legs were practically melting with heat for Mr. Buchanan," I snarled.

"Oh Lucy, please let me explain," she wept. "I used to be nothing but a lousy tramp. I practically lived at speakeasies; I would drink nights away until they were no longer in my memory. I danced with random men, letting them buy me gallons of giggle juice until they finally laid me down. I had no desire for love or loyalty."

"And that's supposed to make me feel sorry for you? This pathetic history you're sharing with me makes me sick. If anything, you're telling me how disgustingly unworthy you are of a great gem, such as my brother." I snapped. My pride kicked in and frustration boiled throughout my body.

"But don't you see? You're brother rescued me. My world was terrible and I did all sorts of hideous things, all up until he came into my life. He strolled through the club and spoke to me like I was worth more than a couple of bucks and a huge glass of liquor. No one will ever love your brother more than I do." It was those eleven words that cooled down my rising anger. _'No one will ever love your brother more than I do'_. I stared at Pearl, finally seeing how her entire essence sparkled for my brother. She was far from an angel, but my brother's love had cured her from the ugliness of her past.

Yet, remembering her sizzling encounter with Tom Buchanan shattered her image once again. "If you love him, then why did you run off with Tom?"

"Because, even when you love someone beyond belief it's still hard to escape your past," she answered. "Come on, Lucy, a beautiful girl like yourself has probably gone on a number of sprees."

"Actually…I've never even kissed a boy before," I admitted, staring down at my bare feet.

Suddenly, behind her tears a small smile grew upon her face. "Awe…sweet, pure, innocent Lucy, I guarantee that one day you'll fall madly in love. But love, no matter how strong, doesn't protect you from desire." Pearl turned, marching over to the door.

"You're wrong!" I blurted out, not actually sure of what I was saying.

She glanced over to me; "Am I?" her small laugh filled the room hauntingly. She made a quick exit, "Goodnight my future sister," she called back, sending a chill to go running down my spine.

I jumped into the bed, burying my face in my hands. I wasn't crying but promising myself that I will never stray away from the man I fall in love with. I will admire my soul mate so much that temptation will no longer exist in our little, perfect world of true love.

**TGG*FF***

For the next few days I ignored Pearl, overseeing her very presence. She became invisible, even though deep inside I knew she was there. I indulged in other activities. I spent my time doing much more lovelier, worthier things than worrying about my opinion of Pearl. I went out with my few friends from the beach, Elmer, Victoria, Jimmy, Alberta, and Fern. Each moment we all spent together life turned into a small, sun-kissed infinity. After long blissful days on the beach we traveled into the roaring corners of New York City in taxi cabs. From there we went crawling into speakeasies, giggling all the way to the golden doors. We danced around like hyped little children, embracing the hot jazz music gleefully. They tossed me around the glossy floor, leaving me floating on a bright, emotional cloud with the biggest smile ever conquering over all my facial features. Our happiness was so great on those extravagant, star-filled nights that even the effects from the strongest of alcohol couldn't compare with our sunny joy. My time with our little group felt so amazing that I considered it being absolutely heaven on Earth. But out of all my new, wonderful five friends I felt most happy with Elmer, and with every second our relationship grew stronger. One day, while everyone else was splashing through the bay, I went to Elmer's house for lunch.

Elmer Ortiz was the proud, handsome, confident son of Edwin and Mary Ortiz. The Ortiz family were the wealthy owners of twenty types of newspapers that sold by the millions all throughout the United States and Europe. With Elmer being a proud only child he held the entire futures of his family's newspaper businesses within his angelically carved palms. He lived five homes left of the Buchanan's in East Egg; his house was a brilliant castle of white, polished goodness. To my greatest of luck, after complimenting the silver-framed artwork, tulip gardens, and highly cozy furniture, I won the finest of approval from his parents.

After the swell meal, I sat with him on a circular, silky couch in an icy blue room. Elmer smiled brightly at me, "Lucy, our small time together has been truly amazing."

"Absolutely," I agreed.

"Every moment together I feel like I'm being showered with heaven's riches. You're probably the most beautiful, funniest, perfect girl I've ever met. Thank you for being so wonder, pretty girl," he said, causing me to erupt in light, flirtatious laughter and intense blushing. "But seriously Lucy, you have no clue how happy I am to have met you," he sat his hand carefully over mine, and my heart felt as if it grew wings and had begun fluttering vibrantly inside my stomach.

That day transformed me into an awkward butterfly. After lunch I went quickly soaring over to Victoria's wisdom. Together we dived into a taxi cab and drove off into a stylish evening of shopping. While running our hands through soft fabrics and hearing our cash jingle in our purses, Victoria said, "Lucy, you're so naïve! Can't you see that Elmer has hot pants for you?"

"Me?!" I quacked, "But he's so flirtatious and handsome and funny and…"

"And you're beautiful!" she insisted, "Beautiful people always get together. Also, Elmer's not the lunch type when it comes to women. He must really fancy you."

I blushed, "Really?"

"I've never been so certain of something in my entire life Lucy! You need to get more involved with men, toss out some of your innocence. What you desperately need is a wild party to dance, flirt, kiss…" she winked. "I actually heard that there's going to be a party in your neighborhood next Friday."

"Victoria!" I gasped, "Only because I'm the biggest fool when it comes to men it doesn't mean I have to spin around with every guy in New York."

"Of course it doesn't! I'm just saying it never hurts to have a bit of experience," she explained, throwing a bright, red dress at me. "Now, doll, try that on! The party on Friday is a Gatsby party and it's practically religion to look your absolute best." She pushed me through a soft curtain of the dazzling New York store. I slipped into the wavy bundle of red fabric in the fabulous dressing room. After hearing the name Gatsby I couldn't think about anything else. My thoughts didn't go anywhere near the topic of Elmer or shopping, but only to the dominant name that flew gracefully in the air. _Gatsby_.

**TGG*FF***

When I wasn't with my little group of wild young adults, I found myself wandering off to Nick's house. Being around Nick Carraway created a new, classier atmosphere of intelligence and kindness. I adored each moment with him, for when he spook I became a little child again, listening to the best story teller in the whole wide world. He told me about how Daisy was his second cousin, once removed. I felt this strange trust towards him, as if he were the kind of man who was excellent at keeping things to himself. I was telling him about my encounter of Tom and Pearl's little happening when he informed me of one of Tom's mistresses. "Tom must really carry a torch for all these women," I mumbled, not really surprised of Tom's number of sprees.

"I've only met one of his mistresses, Myrtle. She despises her husband," Nick replied. We sat in the shade of one of the trees in front of his house, feeling happily alienated from the whoopees on the beach.

"Pearl insists that she loves my brother intensely," I said, feeling my eyes roll at the fresh memory.

"Sort of like Tom. He's really protective of Daisy, but even though he loves her it doesn't keep him from straying off," he said.

"Wow, we live in a world of such loose morals," I sighed. "But Nick, I know this is off topic but what do you know about Mr. Gatsby?"

"_Gatsby?_" he asked, his eyes widening, "It depends, what you want to know about him?"

"Anything and everything," I answered, leaning towards him with booming curiosity.

"Well…a while back I was invited to one of his parties, but oddly I was the only one who received an invitation," he stated, stretching out his arms.

"So people don't get invited to his parties?" I questioned.

"Nope, but all of New York finds out about them somehow. When the word gets out people stuff themselves into tiny cars and go rushing over to his glimmering exhibit."

"That's so exciting!" I chirped, "Tell me more!"

"Well it's really a rare thing to meet him. He's extremely mysterious. I've had the unusual opportunity to receive his introduction; even after a week he still appears to be a fantasy. I supposed that's why he drowns in rumors." He stared over at Gatsby's extravagant home that shined down at us dominantly. "I've met one man who claimed that he didn't exist at all. He believed that the lavish house, parties, and everything else were all a big part of an elaborate, sneaky plan created by spies. I guess I'm just one of the lucky few who can guarantee he exists." The once bright, clear sky turned dark and gray, and thunder banged in the arising distance. "You should be going home," Nick suggested. I stood up, nodding my head and glancing over to the bay. The waves became aggressive and gloomy and people scattered off, leaving the once covered beach as empty as a ghost zone. I prepared myself to go speeding to the house, when Nick warned, "Lucy, don't think too deep into all that Gatsby jazz, it can get terribly confusing."

"Don't worry about me Nick," I laughed, "I'm a big girl!"


	5. It's Party Time

**It's Party Time**

In my five eventful days in West Egg I began to refer to the cozy, summery palace as "home". When I returned home from Nick's house I was dripping wet from the heavily pouring rain. My steps rang against the shiny floor along with a bundle of water drops.

My mother was lying down on a lounge chair starring out a window; she jumped up into a straight position after seeing me. "Lucy, you're soaking wet!" she gasped, whipping her buttery hair through the air. "What adventures were you on today?"

"I was over at Mr. Carraway's house," I answered. My mother turned around briefly to grab a snowy white envelope from a tiny, antique table. She came up to me with a wide, excited grin filling up her face. "What do you have in your hand?" I asked, my eyes widening towards the envelope my mother waved around compellingly. I instantly noticed it had the words _Lucy Baudin _covering over it dominantly in fancy, golden letters.

"It's an invitation," she answered bubbly, placing it perfectly in my hand. I opened it quickly to see an elegant, pearly card framed with swirly gold patterns. "It's truly the loveliest thing I've ever seen! It came to the house an hour ago on a silver tray carried by a handsome, young servant. It was almost as if it was an expensive crown made for a gorgeous queen," she purred.

"It's from Jay Gatsby!" I sang, starring at the beautiful card in awe, "It says _'Dear Miss. Lucy Lee Baudin, it is by far my highest of pleasures to invite you to a celebration at my residence this Friday. The gates open at 7:30 p.m. and I deeply hope to see you there.' _I honestly cannot believe this!" I announced.

"I didn't know you were acquainted with Mr. Gatsby," she stated.

"I'm not, that's why this is all such a surprise," I said, tapping my fingers against the invitation vibrantly, not really believing in its existence, "this all a bit of a coincidence, actually. Victoria and I were talking about the party the other day. Also Nick was telling me about his past invitation earlier today."

"Well I highly suggest you go my sweetest daughter! You should dance, have fun, maybe meet a charming fellow or two!" she insisted.

I nodded my head and continued discussing the invitation with my mother for a short while. Eventually I headed upstairs to call up Victoria. Being a professional when it came to memorizing numbers, I simply twisted her household's digits over the shiny, green telephone. After conversing with a maid with golden chimes within her voice I finally got a hold of Victoria. I told her about the invitation from the mysterious millionaire with the gigantic castle and brilliant parties.

"Lucy, you're joking; people never get invited to Gatsby's. Everyone in New York just attends his events uninvited and spontaneously!" she laughed.

"I know! That's why my head is spinning around. I didn't even know he was aware of my existence. What on Earth would a glamorous party-thrower want with me?" I wondered.

"Maybe he spotted you strolling around West Egg and was completely compelled by your prettiness," she suggested, causing an explosion of giggles between us. "If the rumors are true then Gatsby is basically the richest man alive. I bet his fortunes make the Ortiz family look like a bundle of cheap slobs. If I were in your shoes I would dump Elmer and do everything in my power to get Gatsby to fall madly in love with me."

"Victoria! I bet he's an old man…" I began.

"That makes everything so much better! You need to marry them when they're old and rotting so you can collect all their inheritance sooner," she explained humorously.

After a tiny parade of laughter I finally asked, "So can you still accompany me Friday?"

"Oh heavens no, doll! That'll ruin the whole mood, you need to make a grand, romantic entrance, like a princess," she cried. "If you need me desperately during the party then I'll be the lady slurping down wine at the pool side."

After further conversing I peacefully hung up. It was now one hundred percent official that I would attend Gatsby's extravagant party. But unlike the other thousand attenders who plan to celebrate meaninglessly and wildly, I had a glittering goal. I was determined to meet the mystique of a host, Mr. Jay Gatsby.

After two challenging, long days of waiting it was finally the day of Gatsby's party. That morning I received a phone call from a sick Elmer Ortiz. In my sweet sympathy I had the cooks create a fancy, delicious pot of chicken noodle soup for me to take over to the Ortiz household. I had my parents toss me into a vehicle with a polite, awkward butler to escort me to their dazzling, platinum doors. I stepped into their bright, airy grand voyeur and I was greeted by Elmer's graceful mother. She wore a long, sparkling pink gown with her pale orange hair twisted above her head and decorated with diamonds. Enormous hot pink gems weighed down her ears. Her smile twinkled beneath the gigantic crystal chandelier. "Lucy, my dear, what brings you to our home?" she chirped, her rosy red lips plucked out proud duckling.

"I heard Elmer was sick so I brought him some soup," I answered, waving towards the ginger butler who carried the silver pot.

"You're so sweet, Lucy, I'm so glad my darling Elmer has a swell girl like you in his life," she purred.

"Awe shucks! I'm extremely thankful to have such a lovely rose treat me so kindly," I smiled, "If you don't mind me asking, why are you dressed so excellently this early?" My words were heavily sugarcoated, because Mrs. Ortiz looked like large, tacky pink cake verses a swell image of perfection.

"My husband and I have a huge party to go to this evening at the Buchanan's, I want to be absolutely sure I look my very best," she bragged. She snapped her fingers over to a staff member to grab the pot, "Elmer's resting at the moment, but I'll tell him…"

"Lucy! Is that you?" a rusty voice interrupted. I looked over to the stairs to see Elmer staring down at me admirably. His violet eyes were tinted with a gross, light red. He wore a thick, dark gray, velvet robe and his lemony hair was a messy blob above his head. Despite the pale shade of green that covered him he was still very handsome and enchanting.

"Elmer, darling," Mrs. Ortiz hummed, jumping into his direction, "Lucy brought you soup!"

"Thank you Lucy, I'm blessed to have such a beautiful girl do such a perfect deed for me!" he flirted.

"I'll give you two some privacy," Mrs. Ortiz winked before making a fast exit.

"You're both pretty and humble Lucy, you're too wonderful," he grinned.

"Don't give me all the credit, Edward did all the heavy lifting," I blushed, pointing over to my ginger butler as he made his way to the Ortiz kitchen, following the staff with the soup.

"So a little birdy told me that you were going to a Gatsby party tonight," he announced, a hint of worry flavoring his voice.

"Was this little birdy Victoria?" I asked.

"Yup, I just wanted to warn you not to go messing around, doll face, because I want to have you all to myself," he chuckled.

"Oh Elmer, I'm going to have a blast tonight." Those were the last words I said before making an attractive exit, leaving Elmer biting his nails with hilarious nervousness.

Later, I spent hours being pampered by servants so that I would look like a twinkling star tonight. I hopped into my polished, rosy colored bathroom to sink into a refreshing, cleansing tub. My two favorite, baby-faced, young maids surrounded my bath with pale candles that had relaxing, silky flames. The water was toasty, over flowing with bubbles, and decorated with girly, pink rose petals. The maids scrubbed me down with big chunks of ivory soap and washed my hair with a gallon of strawberry scented shampoo. "Miss Baudin, you're going to look like a goddess tonight, all the boys are destined to fall in love with you!" the maid, Rose, promised. They lifted me out of the tub and wrapped me in a white, fluffy robe. They sat me down in front of a wide mirror in the bathroom and began brushing my hair out with a silver brush. They twirled my wavy, sandy brown locks around my head. My hair transformed into a twisty masterpiece of huge, elegant curls that stood proudly amongst a bronze clip. The bronze clip held a large peacock feather that made me look like a stylish queen of a colorful jungle. They gently powdered my face and framed my eyes with black and sapphire makeup. My long eyelashes popped exotically from my glamorously decorated eyes and my lips were painted a ruby red. I slipped into a dark purple dress made out of festive strings with thin straps. I put on three layers of black pearls around my neck and stepped into flat, purple, leathery sandals.

The maids were quickly painting my nails an emerald green when I said, "Thank you ladies, tonight is sure to be the greatest night ever." Each of them smiled and sprayed me down with lavender perfume and clipped peacock feathers on my ears. I was finally prepared for an eventful night at the hottest party hut in the universe.

Finally I discovered myself standing right in front of the Gatsby doors, completely enchanted. Of course, I've been to hundreds of clubs and parties before, but never were any of them like this. There were millions of people and I was growing dizzy from the hectic explosions of color. Cars of all types, sizes, and designs continuously parked in front of the blazing castle; the vehicles stacked against each other, creating spectacular mountains of people and transportation devices. We were all comfortably and excitedly cramped together in an epic parade that slowly flew through the doors. I was drowning in the chatter and laughter of a huge, unbelievable variety of people. Eventually I was inside the mind-blowing building of marble and diamond. The whole atmosphere vibrated and illuminated like a sizzling sunshine. The army of people was greeted by a gigantic bundle of exotic performers who wore huge, neon outfits and waved enormous feathers through the air. Some threw pretty buckets of wild glitter over us and it deliciously felt like an addictive, extravagant meteor shower. People began swimming through the colors in awe, shouting in glee and excitement. Models twirled around crazily, gangsters gambled with cocky high school boys at the forests of game tables, and business men flirted with bubbly film stars. I was lifted up into the cloud of illuminate decorations and soaring confetti; I had an overwhelming bird's-eye-view of the millions of categories of celebrators. There were Broadway producers, billionaires, crazy college kids, actors, hardcore mobsters, athletes, etc… They all tossed me around in the glamorous sea of buzzes and charm as my long legs swung along with the roaring jazz music. Within the blink of the eye I discovered myself skipping into the warm outdoors. There was a large patio covered in sparkles and a stylish swimming pool that was filled with bright blue water. The ocean of people danced wildly amongst the ground as if they were trying to cause an earthquake with their powering dance moves. Tinsel of all sorts of colors framed the place along with low clumps of balloons and flashing lights. The brightness fluttered amongst decorated bars and tall ice sculptors. The tinsel fell over the festive crowds along with the delicious alcohol that washed over us like a lovely spring rain. Beauty fell over everyone like huge, booming commits. People cried out in happiness, rising up their arms as if they were desperately trying to capture the night sky. Some of the unique partiers went diving into the pool, obviously drunk on the sprinkles of tasty liquor and the hot jazz music that conquered over the entire area. Even the huge jazz band that played proudly and loudly above a tall stage danced around, mesmerized by their own brilliant sound. I was helplessly drifting around the fabulous madness until an unknown voice called my name. "Lucy!"

I turned around to see the fierce Jordan Baker standing amongst a crew of three handsome men. "Jordan!" I shouted, tripping over to her.

"Having a good time?" she asked with one of the men around her winking at me.

"I don't think I was prepared for this type of party," I admitted. She grabbed my hand and began pulling me down towards the pool.

She grabbed a tall glass of bright champagne and placed it in my spare hand, "The perfect antidote for that is to drink," she smiled. Throughout my entire life I've never been drunk, all up until that night. I repeatedly swallowed up champagne and felt myself melting into the excitement. The colors became brighter, men became more attractive, and the excitement grew grander.

The festivities erupted around me and the music filled in my ears. Jordan and I were spinning each other around in a heavy crowd of gigglers, conversing about insignificant topics and letting strangers toss us through the neon air. Dazzling decorations and pool water splashed on us, encouraging our behavior to grow crazier and our dancing to become more energetic. "This is the best night of my life!" I cried, flipping into the pool next to the handsome man who winked at me. My head grew dizzier along with my newfound shiny drunkenness. My attraction to the stranger grew to unrecognizable heights. I discovered his lips tickling my bare neck and I was very satisfied by his overflowing affections. He lifted me out of the cluttered water and threw me in his arms. "What's your name?" I asked in a loud voice against the glittery festivities.

"Oscar!" he answered, lifting me above his shoulders until tossing me back into his sturdy embrace, causing me to fall against his muscular chest in laughter. "I go to Princeton!" he informed randomly and proudly. Suddenly a stampede of people came between us. I reached out my arms and cried out his name as I was stranded in a puddle of strangers. Then, most embarrassingly, I tripped over and found myself on top of an unknown, super attractive, elegant man. The partiers surrounding us busted out in laughter until they shortly found a new occurrence to chuckle over.

Looking down at the calm body beneath me made my drunkenness instantly ware off. I scratched at a piece of railing desperately, wobbling myself up to a standing position. "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry," I apologized, letting all the glimmering action slow down around me.

"It's okay my dear," he said. Everything changed when I saw his smile. His smile made everything about the party seem unimportant and I was instantly under its brilliant spell. It had a strange effect on me that made the world feel warm and wonderful. I found myself staring at his beautiful smile, until I felt his hand brush quickly and perfectly against mine. "These parties can get out of hand." His words floated lightly through the air so flawlessly it was challenging to believe in their existence. He was probably the most handsome, classiest, warmest man I've ever been so blessed to see. My legs felt thin and airy, I instantly fell again against him but he caught me. His amazing smile grew brighter, "Easy there," he grinned, making my heart drop into my flopping stomach.

"Who are you?" I stuttered.

"Oh, I haven't been that much of a host," he sighed, "I'm Jay Gatsby." After those words the many blazing noises went mute and the penny dropped. This handsome, polite, compelling man was none other than the mysterious Mr. Gatsby.


	6. Unbalanced Circumstances

**Hey guys! I'm so sorry for not updating in a while, but here I am, alert and ready to write some more fabulous chapters! I love you guys so much for all your interest in my story; it means the world to me. I would also like to say I'm using a bit from Lana Del Rey's song, Off to the Races, in this chapter and that song does NOT belong to me. Last but not least, it would be supper awesome if you guys would share your dream date if you were living in the 1920s' through a review, it would help me out a lot with coming up with some awesome material for the story! Well…goodbye beautiful, lovely readers! **

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**Unbalanced Circumstances**

"I'm highly sorry for our unexpected clash," he smoothly apologized. There was something about Gatsby that made everything feel like a perfect, cool harmony that a first-class orchestra of angels played. The way he caught me, carefully holding my loose body as if I were a delicate glass bird, made my very existence turn into warm, happy goo. He untwisted me into a standing position, smiling at me with a unique enchantment. My heart sprinted across the galaxy as his charm radiated beautiful fumes that magically filled my head.

I admired how he spoke with an unbelievable elegance that was filled with hope, grace, and strange, delicious warmth. Being near him was like a dream that skipped within a perfect fantasy that I never wanted to leave. "You are much more charming than I expected," I blushed.

"I blame it on all the tremendous stories that fill my halls," he explained, a small gloom skipped across his eyes, "I'm really a kind gentleman," he promised, grabbing my hand gently with a grin on his face, "And you must be the lovely Miss. Lucy Baudin."

"Indeed I am," I said, surprised that he recognized me.

"Well, Miss. Baudin, I believe I owe you a dance for running into you," he offered, leading me over to the dance floor. As we traveled the once bombing, overly excited celebration calmed down. Couples tied themselves together into pretty knots that sailed to the sweet music.

We stood in the center of a diamond floor that glimmered under the light of dazzling decorations and energetic stars. "Please forgive me, Mr. Gatsby, I'm really not much of a dancer," I apologized as we began gliding across the waves of wonderful music. Tinny trips occurred from my unbalanced feet. I felt like a baby giraffe on slippery ice compared to Mr. Gatsby's flawless movements.

"No worries, Miss. Baudin," he comforted, "I think you're an excellent dancer."

"Mr. Gatsby, please don't kid so obviously with me," I giggled.

"Well your beauty outweighs any imperfections," he chuckled.

We fluttered across the floor, doing simple conversing along the fabulous rhythms that sang throughout the dazzling, crystal, extravagant area. When the music finally changed I desperately distracted Mr. Gatsby with more easy-going sentences, just so I could dance with him a little longer. I smiled widely when he gave in and began spinning me through the cloud of brand new, soft, jazzy tunes. Mr. Gatsby had an addictive vibe that heavily covered him. Even with the most insignificant of words he amused me in the most magnificent way. I was falling wildly into a desirable sea of Gatsby. His presence was more alluring to me than a field of cocaine to drug-loving cool cats.

The music afterwards began to turn into silence. The emptiness was then quickly overflowed with applauses and cheers. Suddenly, I felt a quick whip of hair smash against the fancy air behind me. I turned to finally return my eyes upon the sharp Jordan Baker. She watched over us like a curious tigress and her black dress flapped against the nice breeze that filled the venue. She moved her attention completely on me, a sly smile forming on her scarlet lips. "There you are, Lucy," she announced before moving her gaze over to Mr. Gatsby, "It appears you've met our fantastic host."

"Miss. Baker, it's always a pleasure seeing you," Mr. Gatsby greeted, moving over to lightly kiss her hand.

"And Gatsby, you've met my lovely pet, Lucy," she hummed, vocally pulling me over to her side. "Isn't she just the sweetest thing?"

"Of course, she's lovelier than a million-dollar picture," he complimented. We found ourselves moving up the black, iron stairs that spiraled around the glowing pool as more people began flooding the dance floor once again. Jordan grabbed two crystal glasses of champagne, handing one over to me and then taking a hard sip from the other. "So how do you know Miss. Baudin?" Gatsby asked.

"Under uneventful, boring circumstances that are too long to explain," Jordan said with a humor-full grin.

"I doubt that a story involving someone as pretty as Miss. Baudin could ever be boring and uneventful," he stated, his eyes twinkling over to me. Jordan's eyes widened with odd surprise.

My mouth turned dry with affections. I stayed embarrassingly quiet all until an old, snowy haired butler came up to Gatsby. "Mr. Gatsby, sir, a man over the telephone is asking for you," he said in a rusty, grumpy voice, a strange look of worry overflowed his wrinkled face.

"Tell him I'm…" Gatsby began until the butler whispered something into his ear. Gatsby nodded his head with a sprinkle of concern shadowing over him, "I deeply apologize. It appears that I'm needed at the moment."

"That's definitely not a problem, Mr. Gatsby!" Jordan comforted as Gatsby headed back inside.

Before completely disappearing through the enormous doors and festive crowds he turned around, "Thank you Miss. Backer, it's always an honor to see you," he said before turning his attention over towards me, "and Miss. Baudin, I do hope that we'll meet again," he winked before finally vanishing.

In his absence, Jordan and I headed to a fancy iron table on the patio that rested besides a swan ice sculptor and beneath a creamy moon. "Was that really Mr. Gatsby?" I gasped, completely unable to return to the usual activities of the night.

"Well to all of my knowledge, yes, that was the grand, fabulous Jay Gatsby," Jordan calmly answered.

"I expected him to be much more…"

"Older and overweight?" she predicted, flipping her hair back. "I expected the exact same thing before I met him. Extremely wealthy men are usually withering elders, not charming princes with dashing smiles."

"So is he always that charming?" I asked. I discovered myself swooning over the attractive topic of Mr. Gatsby.

"Gatsby can charm the pants right off of anybody as easy as the flick of a switch," she explained, "But unfortunately he's one of those bachelors who are completely, mentally unavailable."

Those words sent an ice bullet to soar right through my stomach. My once glittering, sequence-covered swoon transformed into a cold, disappointed sadness. "What do you mean by that?" I slowly questioned, my voice was shaky and I began to feel a long tear within my heart and soul.

Jordan's lips plucked out like a nervous duckling. I could instantly tell that her tongue was being held back by an enormous promise. Far beyond in an emotional, invisible distance was a solid explanation. But the answer to my question was locked up in a huge, steel case protected by highly trained, elite warriors and unbreakable locks. The strange silence amongst Baker and I grew stronger and more frustrating. All until Jordan shook her shoulders, brushing off hesitations eagerly until speaking out with a struggling smile. "Oh Lucy, I have no clue. I just wouldn't fall too madly in love with him if I were you. I have never seen him look twice at any of the sizzling, long-legged flappers around here! Every inch of this place there's a beautiful Sheba or two dying for his attention, but Gatsby has never fallen for any of them." I knew that there was a better, longer, more shocking story hidden under Jordan's tongue, but I decided to shake my accusations off to save me the trouble.

"So what do you love so much about Gatsby parties?" I asked Jordan, feeling the focused grace that Gatsby brought to my head die out. The party booted back up again and the army of festivities and roaring music exploded once more, but this time it felt more like an endless song of blurring, colorful, huge cannonballs rather than a pattern of neon fireworks. Sparkles and liquor rained down on us like an apocalyptic meteor shower that made me excited, sick, and very gleeful.

"I love Gatsby parties because they're booming, intimate, and filled with the hardest of partyers and alcohol," she laughed. She picked up these two, gigantic, golden cups filled with a heavy, high portion of vodka that was even intoxicating to look at. Jordan handed one into my hand with a huge grin on her face. "Let's drink to being forever fun and an infinity of amazingly good times," she insisted, lifting her big drink up to the decorated sky.

"Well…I guess I can drink to that," I shyly stated, clicking my drink against hers then gulping it all up. After that drink it led to a five hundred more, and my quickly growing drunkenness made my intoxication before the Gatsby encounter look like brief bubbliness from a childish tea party. The colors everywhere mixed together and I felt trapped in a never ending hurricane of vibrancy, laughter, and whiskey. Each drink I took drowned me beneath the twinkling stars as I danced the night away. I suddenly discovered myself dancing on stages alongside Broadway starlets, sitting cozily on the laps of chubby gangsters who played blackjack and smoked cigars, cuddling with Ivy League boys beneath the wavy pool water as they tried to neck with me, cartwheeling with super models on Gatsby's beach, and slurring by pianos with giggling musicians and tormented flip producers. Even the most embarrassing of actions made me happy. I spun fast and wildly underneath crystal chandeliers, tiring performers, and drunken Wall Street kings. Even when most of the shinning citizens of America returned to their automobiles due to the aging twilight, I stayed in Gatsby's castle, swaying to the sound of the piano and sleepless jazz emperors. Tinsel and dying balloons fell over me like a light, sleepy, beautiful rain. Eventually I followed the steps of others who stayed within Gatsby's exquisite palace. We crawled into Gatsby's furniture, curling up around our drinks.

The once crazy, majestic, young colors that blazed around me like an elaborate, imaginary masterpiece that cried out powerfully like a beautiful, intense twister began to fade. The brightness and sparks melted into calm, darkness as the night began to unavoidably fall. A lady in a crazy, mango dress and a halo of yellow sapphires above her chocolaty hair sung hauntingly on top of a glossy piano. Playing beside her was a concentrated, pale man with a whip of wheat colored hair on top of his peanut shaped head. The girl lay proudly above the instrument with a large bottle of scotch in her hand, she sung out:

_Light of my life, fire of my loins_

_Be a good baby, do what I want_

_Light of my life, fire of my loins_

_Give me them gold coins, gimme' them coins_

_And I'm off to the races, cases of Bacardi chasers_

_Chasing me all over town_

_Cause' he knows I'm wasted, facing_

_Time again at Riker's Island and I won't get out_

_Because I'm crazy, baby I need you to come here and save me_

_I'm your little scarlet, starlet singing in the garden_

_Kiss me on my open mouth_

_Ready for you_

I dreamily sighed before taking one last gigantic, hard, long sip of God knows what. I then finally let the blackness take me away from my brilliant infinity of extravagance.

Waking up was terrible. My surroundings were messy, pathetic images of once wild partiers now rushing to puke out gallons of giggle juice in crowded restrooms. The dominant, brilliant musicians were all sluggish above the trashed, marble floor, releasing ugly snores. I closed my eyes in panic, even the slightest glimpse of light felt like the angry punch from a heavyweight champion into my fragile head. I plugged my ears in refusal to any bit of noise; I bet that even the flap of a butterfly wing could be deadly to my wobbly mind due to my torturous condition. I felt disgusting and wobbly, and the once happy-making, delicious alcohol now made me feel sick. My throat felt as if a pile of cotton balls were unwillingly stuffed in it, an icy chill stomped against my wiggly back, and my stomach jiggled in nastiness as every single drop of my hundred displays of magnificent beverages threatened to horrifyingly escape my body. I groaned in the yuckiest of fashions as I turned over slowly, desperate for the tiniest of comfort. I slowly separated my eyelids for what felt like a dreadful lifetime. The aching world before me spun around and around, as if I were trapped on an evil roller coaster that despised the thought of stopping or even slowing down by a small second.

My disturbing, painful awakening was greeted by none other than Mr. Jay Gatsby. He held a glass of water as he put a rainbow yarn, knitted blanket over me with pure humbleness heavenly covering his entire appearance. "Mr. Gatsby…" I slurred before slipping of the pretty couch. I slammed against the cold floor that felt wonderful against my throbbing face. But a small part of me believed that the coolness came from the vomit of either my unconscious self or one of my fellow, hung-over slobs.

"Miss. Baudin!" he exclaimed, kneeling down next to my disaster of a body, "We really have got to stop meeting under such unbalanced circumstances."

I moaned. His voice that felt like an addictive, beyond perfect sympathy of angels now felt like a harmful clang that echoed aggressively through my shattering essence. "Please excuse me, Mr. Gatsby, I had way too much to drink last night," I mumbled, poorly attempting to rise up from the ground.

"Here, let me assist you," he said, lifting me up to my shaky, weak feet.

"Mr. Gatsby, I'm so sorry you have to witness me looking like such a mess," I apologized, reaching to the cup of water Gatsby held out to me, "I honestly feel like there's a thundering heartbeat inside my head that's trying to painfully murder me."

Gatsby gave off a small smile. What surprised me the most about him was that there wasn't even a tiny shard of judgment within his eyes, but only sympathy and genuine kindness. "Well my house is always opened to you if you're unable to return home."

I jumped up, noticing the grand sunlight that aggressively shot at me through the draped covered windows, causing a hiss to escape my closed mouth. "As much as I appreciate your offer Mr. Gatsby, I really must be returning home," I panicked.

"Well please, Miss. Baudin, let me drive you home!" he said. I had no time to focus on his selfless, pretty manners or fancy automobile. All because I was far too distracted by my suffering that occurred tremendously under the hand of the nightmare that throbbed within my every being.

I ended up being lifted out of the creamy, expensive vehicle and cradled in Gatsby's arms. My parents opened the door with surprised faces. I supposed they were too taken back by the handsome bachelor who carried me to begin schooling me for my outrageous night out and extreme drunkenness. I was handed over to a pod of servants who were destined to gossip about the occasion when they returned to their village-like homes of uniforms and snoopy, fellow employees. They tossed me into my bedroom and left immediately, afraid of my ill condition. But before I could slip into a silky robe and hide under my blankets, in escape of the violent world that threatened my vulnerable being, I zoomed into the restroom. I stared down at the toilet, gagging until I finally began vomiting as if my entire life depended on it. I felt utterly, intensely bad, but I couldn't help but feel no regrets for attending the incredible Gatsby party.


	7. Crush

**Crush**

I have never been the type of girl to sleep bright, summer days away. Even in my younger years, while other tiring younglings took their lovely naps and dreamt before the rise of twilight, I stayed wide awake, alert, and enthusiastic. I ran outside, soaking up sun as I went shopping, read long books, painted, plaid long hours of intense tennis, and celebrated over the gift of each rising smooch of sun. But now, suffering through an agonizing, brand new aching that my heavy hangover brought, the second my tangled hair hit the pillow I fell into a deep sleep. It wasn't until the sun of the once, sparkly new day began to set that I finally awakened with a clear head. The freedom from my strong, alcoholic night made me feel like a light, beautiful stallion that had finally broken its thorn-covered covered chains and flew over its tall, iron walls. I rise to a sitting position above my bed and stretch out my arms, as if my fingertips are covered with expensive paint and have the ability to give the sunset long, beautiful wings. A big glass of clear water sat at my bedside, and I swallowed it up as if I were stranded on a dry, burning desert. With the consumption of each drip of refreshing water my resurrection was finishing. I felt like an enchanting, magnificent butterfly escaping a gross, shadowy cocoon. I ran my hand quickly and gently through my hair. The once messy blob that resided unattractively above my head in my drunken morning now fell heavenly below my ears. I hopped out of bed with a dreamy grin on my freshly washed face and ran out to the balcony. I leaned against the railing, falling gracefully into a fabulous sequence of daydreaming, watching over the Gatsby castle.

I was unquestionably falling hardly into a blazing attraction to Jay Gatsby. He was so cool, handsome, kind, gentlemanly, and ultimately perfect in my opinion. Boys like Elmer, Oscar, and all the current Ivy League super stars were very pleasing to the eye, but not in the way Gatsby was. Gatsby surpassed the adorableness of the typical, wavy haired school boys who bought me fancy ice teas. He had much more to him than just a gigantic wallet and twinkling, puppy dog eyes. Gatsby had seniority over the typical themes of cuteness and flirtation that I usually indulged in. He was sexy, addictive, elegant, and classical. He had a cloak of hope, charm, ambition, and brilliance that intensely glowed from him like a record-breaking tidal wave. The way he mesmerized me was like he was a glittering prince who came humbly to my rescue on a white, silky horse. I wished with all my might that he would go racing over to my doorstep with a sparkly pink arrangement of tulips in hand, prepared to announce his undying love for me. In my fantasy he realized that I was the special, shinning starlet that saw beyond his money, expensive automobile and vibrant parties. I knew, within every bit of my excited being, that I only swooned upon the fabulousness that made up the glimmering orchid of Gatsby.

"Miss. Baudin," a withering, curly, gingered maid strolled up behind me with an emotionless face. "I'm glad you're feeling better," she said, her attempts to hide her sarcasm failing pathetically.

"Do my parents wish to see me?" I asked, stepping out of my Gatsby-loving train of cozy thought. The maid nodded her head, a giggly streak running through her watery brown owl eyes. I looked down at my lavender night gown that wrapped tightly around my waist. "May you please hand me my robe?" I said to her with a dim smile.

I then went roaming down the stairs, the lower edges of my aquamarine, silk robe falling behind me like a royal train. I expected to see Pearl wandering through the halls, chuckling crazily at me with an evil, slick look of satisfaction from the vivid memory of my outrageous drunkenness. In my expectations she would quickly whisper in my ear that we really weren't as different as I believed. But, joyfully, Pearl had been sent off on a rickety train three days ago back to her unknown junk land, her fling with Mr. Buchanan still a secret to the rest of my family.

I opened the doors to my father's glassy, sapphire office that had the typical theme of fishing and sail boating. "Hello my dearest parents," I greeted, receiving only my parents' solid, chilly facial expressions of mild disappointment. I had no fears of what was to pour from their cold mouths however. I knew that I was their little princess; a sparkling star that they wouldn't dare hurt. In their eyes, rather they be tainted with red and fierce anger, saw me as a young, adorable, precious diamond amongst a garden of sunflowers. I was a delicate force so lovely and angelic that they, even in their most frustrated state of mind, could never strike at, verbally or physically.

"Lucy, we are very upset…" my father began, holding back his own, lion-like roars behind his whip of a tongue.

"Daddy," I wept. I kneeled at his side and softly grabbed his rough hand. I supposed in some ways I was taking advantage of my father's huge love towards me, but I was genuinely saddened by how I disappointed him. I became so mildly sorrow-filled that tears fell briefly of my long eyelashes. "I wasn't expecting to drink that much, I really wasn't!"

"You're very lucky you weren't harmed in any way!" my mother said, rubbing my back ever so slightly as my dad wiped the quivering droplets off my cheeks. My father gave me a long speech about staying below to my alcoholic limits and persuaded me into a comforting promise to never drink so hard again. I obediently nodded and felt their lips press against my forehead before I was clammy sent into an exit.

Finally I could return back to the cozy quilt that happily contained all my affections for the brilliant Mr. Gatsby. Of course, I didn't consider myself an easily obsessive, hopeless romantic, but it felt amazing to carry a torch for a special someone. Throughout my beautiful, nineteen years of life I've never truly fallen for anyone, I just kept a long list of brilliant men who I wouldn't mind spending flirtatious time with. But Gatsby, in a strange, unknown way succeeded far over that list, burning it down to crippled ashes with his electrical intoxication. In the brief, kind encounters of last night's neon festivities, I witnessed his rare drive that sizzled in a pool of sweet red jam. Gatsby was cool, stylish, and marvelous beyond worlds. I was living now only to see his magical smile that turned my entire existence into paper fireflies. I'm majorly crushing over Mr. Jay Gatsby.

If there was anything my mother spotlessly taught me about men it was that the way to a man's heart was unquestionably through his stomach. So the next day I marched over to the kitchen and began bringing my dessert cooking skills to their greatest of divine use. I denied any assistance from the staff as I summoned up one of the many lessons from the French cooking classes my mother used to torturously drag me to. I once sworn to my younger, highly flustered self that I would never cook again, but my intense craving to please Mr. Gatsby destroyed all old, upset promises. I threw out the butters, cheese icings, and cocoa powder along with other delicious ingredients to create a fluffy red velvet cake. While it grew inside a steaming stove I skipped over to my father's office. Inside a dusty, wooden box sat a stack of fancy, extravagant, beautiful paper. I pulled up a gentle, peach arrangement that was framed with bubbly, jet black swirls that appeared to be wild vines. Above the black vines, golden grapefruit patterns were plopped at the arrangement's sharp edges. I took out a sharp pen and began to write in my finest of handwriting.

_Dear Mr. Gatsby, _

_ Thank you so much for inviting me to your brilliant party. I had an amazing time, despite the unattractive morning that came afterwards. Even the ugliest of things were transformed into pretty gems under your lovely humbleness. You were charming and sweet towards me throughout all our wonderful encounters and I thank you enormously. I do hope that we can meet again, under much more balanced circumstances. _

_ I have made you a red velvet cake all on my own. Please do whatever you please with my delicious creation. I pray that it's to your finest of rich, classy likings. _

_Sincerely, Lucy Lee Baudin_

I sprayed my message palely with lavender perfume, being very cautious to not drown the note with intense scents. When it finally turned out perfect and romantically light, I gave it to a giggly butler who carefully stuffed it into an icing white envelope. He stamped the family crest on it in glittering gold ink while I decorated the yummy cake. The edible masterpiece was stylishly glowing with chocolate swirls, cold cream, and ruby red blossoms resting above milk chocolate chunks. After embracing the rushing ray of compliments, the silky envelope and attractive cake were gently set into separate, sparkling silver trays that I handed over to well-dressed staff members. "Bring these to Mr. Gatsby and explain it's from Miss. Lucy Lee Baudin, make sure that they arrive pristinely!" I ordered before dreamily spinning around the house, twisting my hair within my loving, excited buzz. But the bubbly bliss came to an obnoxious loud crash when I remembered my fancier, Elmer.

Last night's party introduced me to a swanky, new universe filled with gleeful glamour, maturity, and loose morals. I craved to return to the glistening event where everyone shined like a polished, glitter-covered diamond amongst gray rocks. A strong part of me was screeching in agony to escape my usual crowd of pretty, childish individuals. In comparison to my new companions from the dazzling sea of Gatsby's elaborate celebration Elmer seemed unfortunately lame. He was too kiddy, adorable, and bouncy to take my heart and spin it gracefully around majestically in the way Mr. Gatsby did. Another crying part of me mourned. I felt angry at myself for wanting so badly to throw a golden prince like Elmer away all for my terribly, sky-rocketing expectations created by a man I had just met. But honestly, I couldn't control the way the party made me feel. I supposed my new fascination with Gatsby could probably be caused by poofs of scattered, unbalanced chemicals in my brain, making everything about the exploding, neon event seem indescribably enchanting. My incredible liking for Gatsby could fade away at any moment, and despite all those possibilities, I still couldn't bring back my once bright, lovey-dove emotions for Elmer. The once extreme pink blushes that Elmer caused now seem to be turning to hot red irritations and disproval.

As the day grew, I decided to visit my dear friend, Nick, who was just returning home from the roaring chaos of Wall Street. He sat his rich, lemony yellow hat on a dark wooden rack, smiling largely in my arriving direction. He led me inside, pouring me a glistening glass of sweet ice tea before sitting at my side on his cloud-like couch. "So how was the party?" he asked.

"It was fantastic…I just can't believe that I received an invitation," I said sweetly. Beyond Nick's precious home rain begin to fall, and the droplets continuously attacked the wide, glass windows with all their watery intensity.

Nick lightly laughed, his words echoed softly against the stormy refreshment. "I always thought that I would be the only one to ever receive an invitation, I guess you're the girl to prove that statement entirely wrong."

"Mr. Gatsby had this strange coolness too him," I blushed. "Meeting him felt as if the world froze, either revolving into a majestic ending or an amazing beginning."

"You sound like a poetic school girl," he mused, finishing his icy beverage.

"He makes me feel vulnerable and naïve," I admitted, looking down embarrassingly at my lap. "I felt so incredibly fond of him that I even made him a cake."

Nick busted out into an amused laughter, "That's adorable."

"I couldn't resist!" I snarled jokingly. So, for a pattern of giggly, happy hours I told Nick the entire story of the festive night and crush-filled mornings afterwards. Nick glowed in my eyes, making me feel secure to pour out every detail of any type of glamorous event. He was a cool, crystal pool glistening beneath all the words that were once locked within my overflowing mind. So I eagerly send my words rushing down into Nick's soft ears, like a beautiful waterfall. I spared no details of my bothering drunkenness and my flying emotions. We were discussing Jordan's hesitation when talking about Gatsby's mysterious love life when I asked, "Do you have any clue of what she really knows of Gatsby's romantic availability?"

"When I first attended one of Gatsby's parties, he requested Jordan's audience in private," he remembered. "She came out coolly, bragging about learning some sort of incredible secret."

"So their private discussion probably had something to do about a special girl?" I wondered shakily.

"I have no clue, but if she, out of all people, was hesitant against that type of question, then that'll be a brilliant guess." He stated.

I took a long, deep breath before finally saying, "Oh Nick, I must be terribly foolish for falling for such a mystery man so quickly. I've only had two, wonderful encounters with him and I'm already backing cakes and prattling over him."

"No worries, Lucy," he comforted, patting my back with a beautiful grin.

"I bet he'll see all my childish, embarrassing efforts for affection as pathetic," I pouted.

"Lucy, if you really did do everything out of the genuine kindness of your heart, Gatsby we'll approve. But seriously, do not worry about anything, you're still so young and have a whole lifetime ahead of you to decide what you crave in this world and take it. I mean, look at me, I'm twenty-nine and still clueless on ways of romance and where exactly I belong in this world. Don't get buried too deep in worry," he said.

I took Nick's wisdom home with me, holding on to it securely beneath the blankets. I was about to fall into a silent sleep until I got incredibly distracted by the green light. It smacked against my windows, as if it were knocking desperately against a golden door to my attention. I got up, wrapping my robe around my cottony, icy blue night gown, before going to the balcony. The night air tickled my skin, flicking my face relaxingly into the radiance of the green light. I looked down at Mr. Gatsby at the edge of his dock. He reached out to the glow with the same image of destiny-chasing as the last time I witness the pretty event. But there was something oddly different about the entire image. Gatsby wasn't as focused as he was last time, he didn't let every inch of his body drown amongst the sparkling promise that the green brightness smothered him with. Instead, despite the blazing reaching of his arms, his attentions watched over in my attention. I should have felt incredibly nervous by his wobbly gaze at me, but I noticed the oddity of how the value of the green light was distinctly falling between his fingertips. Gatsby knew that the once heavenly value of the green light was tremendously falling and he wasn't sure if he despised it or loved it.

**TGG*FF***

Sooner than expected, I discovered myself taking the pampered path of bubble baths and makeup as I prepared for my return to the Gatsby household.

_Dear Miss. Baudin, _

_ Your gift was absolutely lovely. Your beautiful humbleness and precious gratitude warmed my heart, and I am very grateful. I would very much enjoy you to come over to my home tonight at 8 for an exclusive dinner. I truly cannot wait to see you again. _

_Sincerely, Mr. Jay Gatsby_

I couldn't believe in the note's amazing existence. I stared at it intensely as my maids did my hair. I couldn't fathom, that out of the million, interesting, colorful people he could invite over, he chose me. I supposed it was already ultimately surprising that he personally invited me to his party out of a whole army of New Yorkers. It was even rarer that I met him, finding total clarity that the mysterious millionaire really existed. But receiving an invitation to private event was something I was completely unprepared for; I felt as if I were drifting around in a dazzling dream.

My hair was curled in big rings that were pushed over to the right, they crowned me with a sparkly, gold head band that glistening cherry blossoms roared from its left side. They kept my face sun-kissed and shinning as usual before throwing me excited into a lovely dress. The dress was an icy pink piece of fabric covered in fiery, gold dust that twinkled as if it came from the brightest of stars. The dress was tight around my upper body. It had symmetrical, flawless cuts above my hips that were framed with golden, silk rope sewed perfectly to the sparkly fabric. The ends flared out like a puffy cloud against a spring sunset, flying loosely at the highest part of my muscular thighs, that were uncovered and showcased in all their athletic glory and pride. I wrapped two layers of marvelous diamonds around my neck before covering my wrists with matching bracelets and small chains of tiny pink flowers.

In the blink of an eye, after stepping into simple gold heels, I found myself arriving at Gatsby's castle in a jet black town car. Gatsby's palace radiated brightly, like a divine star against a gloomy abyss. Every bit of his home thrived, greens glimmered against the moonlight like holy emeralds and bricks were transformed into sweet gems of angels. Through every window lights sang, purring wildly in an amusement park style, alluring all who saw it. I felt as if I were in a magical fairytale and that his home was an oasis where even the silliest of dreams could be succeeded, colorful dragons slept gently, and snowy white stallions skipped happily against meadows of singing life. Gatsby waited outside, rushing to the meowing vehicle with his amazing smile, he lifted me out carefully, my light fleet floating over to the ground. I was wrapped in a dark, chocolaty brown, fur coat to protect my cozy skin from the decreasing, nighty temperature.

"Hello Miss. Baudin," he greeted, leading me into his charming palace sweetly. Without the millions of booming colors and fascination, everything felt romantically breath taking. As I enter through the grand, artistic doors I refused to look behind me, even in the slightest way.


End file.
